


More Than Words

by jusrecht



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>beach + bonfire + guitar</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

> Overused title comes from the uber-famous Extreme's song. It basically spawned the whole ficlet lol

It is neither the song nor the instrument. Both are familiar devices, to express and to differ; nature only ever sounds angry and yet without anger, only indifference, like the sharp sound of waves rolling in his ears. So close to the sea, chafing sands in the gaps between loose fingers, the roar still sinks into unimportance, mere background noise to a humane sound.

Kyouya cannot look away. He has known the voice for years, the song and instrument even longer. There was merriment around this bonfire but half an hour ago, the same voice singing above the same strings’ resonance, to a vastly more appreciative audience. Listening from afar, eyes on the black vastness beyond, Kyouya had his feet delving into cold sand, waiting for water’s recurring licks.

This time, it is the heat from the crackling fire that licks his skin. The others have gone. Dino sings differently, eyes ever on his, and for that challenge Kyouya wills himself to stare back. From the corner of his eyes, he can dimly perceive fingers gliding across taut strings as each word gently blooms—like a lullaby even on the wings of such a voice. He does not think any voice has a right to sound so.

The last note trembles in the air when it ends. Dino still holds his gaze although his hands now fall slack, draped across hollow wood. He looks older, a man of disappointed hopes, a man who has the will to rise every single time, even with the weight of each dashed hope dragging him under. Kyouya can feel something inside him break.

“If,” his voice is surprisingly smooth, unperturbed (it is a foreign art to him, Hibari Kyouya never uses voice when tonfa will do), “you ever sing like that in front of anyone else…”

The pause comes unbidden. Kyouya knows that he only ever expresses himself with threats, knives’ edges and needles’ jabs, but there is one person who understands his language. The knowledge fetters, binds him in ways he’d rather not think. Dino’s expression softens into something that makes his fingers twitch. This is yet another bind, the invisible cord. What madness is this, two people chaining themselves to each other so blindingly—yet willingly.

“Never,” Dino vows, a quiver about his lips. It never quite blooms into a smile, too private, too precious—so small a thing should not have been so exquisite.

But languages are more than words. Kyouya finds reciprocation not on his lips; it is the slow-spreading warmth which has nothing to do with the bonfire, the calmness that settles over him like a sun-soaked blanket. It is certainly madness, but he does not care. Sanity is simply a word in one language, bounded by definition. He has many others to break free.

Dino’s fingers strum a merrier tune. Kyouya laces his fingers together, content to listen.


End file.
